


not afraid of the fall

by Jmeelee



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Flag underwear, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: When Peter is sure Logan and the rest of the mourners are preoccupied, he steps up to the mahogany casket.Deadpool is dressed in his red and black suit, minus the mask, which lies next to his pockmarked face on the pillow. Peter bends down, head bowed, and murmurs against the deformed shell of Deadpool’s ear, “Now listen, Iknowyou’re not dead.”Wade missed his calling as a ventriloquist because Peter swears his lips never move when he whispers back, “Yeah, no shit.”





	not afraid of the fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AJenno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJenno/gifts).



> For Jennoasis, my Spideypool buddy, who shared this [ tumblr post](https://some-textposts.tumblr.com/post/174737566521/imagine-your-otp) with me and said it screamed Spideypool. And yes, yes it did.

The whimsical text tone of his Stark-issued phone pulls Peter kicking and screaming from a rare deep sleep, and his arm fumbles out of the warm down comforter to flop like a dead fish onto his nightstand. He reels the glowing screen toward his one cracked-open eye.

 

**Johnny: Do you think Cap will wear his American Flag boxer-briefs to the funeral?**

 

Peter types with one thumb.  **Absolutely. They’re his lucky underwear.**

 

He tosses the phone on the sheets and rolls over, chasing sleep for a few more hours. He’s almost drifted off, wrapped up like a human burrito, when his traitorous brain finally breaks the surface. He grabs the phone again.

 

**Wait. Who died?**

 

*****

 

And that’s how Peter Parker finds himself standing in the queue of superheroes waiting to bid adieu to Deadpool, a man they all, at one point or another, claimed to despise.  

 

Tony Stark is dressed in a seven thousand dollar slate-blue Armani jacket—likely tricked out with enough StarkTech to rival his Iron Man suit—but all the other’s are in full costume. The viewing line stretches out the doors of a funeral home that hasn’t been updated since the nineteen-eighties, and by the time Peter finally reaches the casket he wants to borrow one of Wade’s beloved katanas and carve a swath through the faux-mourners and dated decor.  

 

The sickly-sweet scent of decomposing flowers and the squeaking of vinyl-coated chairs under heavy hero asses is giving Peter a throbbing headache.  

 

In front of him, Wolverine leans over Deadpool’s recumbent body, muttering about the great frozen north in the sky while he stuffs a bottle of booze, a handgun, and an obscene number of knives between Deadpool’s red and black leathers and the white satin lining of the coffin. Peter steps forward, tapping Wolverine on the shoulder and almost earns an Adamantium claw through his chest.

 

“Sorry to cut your goodbye short, Logan, but do you think I could have a moment alone with him?”

 

The claws retract. “Yeah, sure kid. Of course. I wasn’t always nice to him, like you were, so I just wanted to give Wade a proper send off.”

 

Peter nods, even though it’s not true. He’s been plenty mean to Wade too, but at least that’s in the past. “He’ll definitely be…well equipped.”

 

He watches as Wolverine walks away, pulling a flask out of his yellow suit. When Peter is sure Logan and the rest of the mourners are preoccupied, he steps up to the mahogany casket.

 

Deadpool is dressed in his red and black suit, minus the mask, which lies next to his pockmarked face on the pillow. Peter bends down, head bowed, and murmurs against the deformed shell of Deadpool’s ear, “Now listen, I  _ know _ you’re not dead.”

 

Wade missed his calling as a ventriloquist because Peter swears his lips never move when he whispers back, “Yeah, no shit.”

 

*****

 

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Tony’s hand against his chest stops Peter’s momentum toward the exit. “You should deliver the eulogy, Spiderman. You knew him best.”

 

“Yeah, no, I think… I don’t...that’s a terrible—“

 

“Nonsense!” Tony leads Peter back toward the casket, next to which the funeral director places a podium. “Knock em dead, er, I mean, I’m sure you’ll do a great job. You’re a natural orator.”  That’s Tony’s polite way of saying Peter talks a lot of shit. 

 

“But Mr. Stark, I’ve never given a eulogy before! I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.”  

 

“Tell us something nice about him. Tell us why we should remember him.” Tony shoos him toward the lectern at the foot of the coffin like he’s herding a skittish animal, and takes his seat in the audience.

 

Peter grips the edge of the wooden stand so tightly it cracks. The funeral director gives him the stink eye. He probably reads the Daily Bugle.

 

_ Oh god oh god oh god what do I say? _

 

“Uh, good afternoon, everyone. I’m Spiderman, and I guess…” In the front row sits Captain America, nodding encouragingly at him, while Johnny Storm grins and gives Peter the finger from the back of the room. He pauses, restarts with more conviction. “I’m Deadpool’s best friend.” 

 

A hundred spectators lock eyes on Spiderman, but Peter can’t keep help looking to Wade’s still form.

 

There could be a million reasons why Deadpool, immortal mercenary, has faked his death.  Maybe he needs protection. Maybe he’s bored and wants to pull a prank on everyone. Whatever the reason, as Peter stands in front of his superhuman peers, he realizes the entire ordeal has taught him a valuable lesson.

 

The spandex Spiderman suit leaves no breathing room for fear, but as he swung here, his disbelief ebbing and flowing with each catch and release of his web, Peter found he was scared.   _ It can’t be true _ . Thwip.  _ What if it is?  _ Thwip.  _ No. Wade can’t die.  _ Thwip.  _ What if he doesn’t come back this time?  _ Thwip.  _ I don’t want to be without him. _

 

“Years ago, Wade Wilson—a mercenary, an ex-soldier, a man dying from cancer—walked into a genetic research facility, and Deadpool walked out. For better or for worse—and for too long I mistakenly believed it was worse—Deadpool came to New York City. He came for me.”  

 

Peter looks out at a room full of colorful costumes and conflicted faces. “He came for all of us; to learn, to change. There are people sitting in this room who hate Deadpool, and always will.  There are people here who’ve grown to respect him, to work side-by-side with him, to trust him. I thought I’d always be the former, but I’m the latter.”

 

Fear’s a hell of a teacher, but Peter’s not scared anymore. 

 

“If there’s one thing I’d want anyone to know about Deadpool, it’s this: Weapon X didn’t create a monster-” Peter smiles- “They unwittingly made a hero. And I’m kind of in love with him.”

 

Deadpool sits straight up in his coffin, and a dozen of Earth’s mightiest heroes scream like little kids. “You know I’ve  _ actually _ died fifty-six times in your presence over the years. Where was this heartfelt profession before?”

 

Peter climbs into the casket and kisses Wade full on the mouth.

 

*****

 

“Nice speech, Spiderman,” Johnny says as everyone files out of the funeral home. Wade, with one arm flung over Peter’s shoulder, gives him a quick squeeze. “But I’m kind of pissed we never found out if Captain America was sporting a star-spangled ass.”

 

Peter shakes his head. “I can say with one hundred percent certainty, he is not.”

 

Johnny and Wade wear matching skeptical expressions, so Peter pulls the waist of his spandex pants away from his body. “I made a pit-stop on my way here.”  

 

“Now that’s a patriotic dick.” Wade whistles.  

 

Johnny laughs so hard he cries. “Why the hell did you steal Captain America’s underwear?”

 

Peter looks at Wade, and feels pretty damn lucky.  

 

He may never give them back. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm Jamie! Thank you for reading!


End file.
